Project: Raven
by StrangeLittleSwirl
Summary: Harry's being watched by the Ministry . . . and that person might be closer than you think.
1. Caffine

Coffee. Thank God for coffee. She sipped some of the scalding-hot caffinated drink in her cup. With the way this meeting was going, she'd need it.  
"Thank you all, we're done here." Minister Fudge waved everyone away. She got up with the rest of them. Well, she guessed, I suppose he didn't want to talk to me . .   
"Except for you." her shoulder's slumped. "Raven, report."  
"Potter's fine. Well, fine as you can be at his Uncle's right now. Fudge, we really should get him out of there. They treat him horribly."  
"I know, but he's at least safe for the moment." He rolled his eyes. "You better go down to the Center. You need you're shot for the week."  
Raven scrunched her nose. "I hate those. I could use a spell like any other witch, you know."  
"Not as effective. Anyway, Dumbledore can only spare you for a little while."  
She shrugged. "Whatever. Anything else?"  
"Nope, other than the fact that you *have* to keep a closer eye on the boy."  
"I've been trying, but I'm still just a kid. However, a very capable kid . . "  
"Ack, just go get your meds."  
Walking through the hallway, she went over to the secretary. "Hello, Jules."  
"That time of week again, already?" She glared over her thick frames. "Can't over step the limit, you know. The Alchemists would have to make new batches everyday if you got your way."  
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Jules."  
"Whatever, Agent R."  
The girl mimicked the secretary as she signed herself in with the quill in the leather bound book. It was stupid, really, because it was muggle technology that was inside the Med Center, and the everything about the outside decorating (if you could call it that)was clearly wizarding motif.   
As she finished signing her name, the password, the door opened and she slipped in.  
The room was rather plain, but the medical apparatus wasn't. There was a muggle fridge in the corner, and the rest of the room was countertops, stools, more medical equipment, and a big leather seat.  
"Hola. In for the juice." She slumped into the seat, her arm turned so that they could start. "And could you again tell me why I have to go through this pain in the butterbeer?" One of the white-coated potion makers, Shane, Doctor B, came over and prepped her arm.  
"Project Raven, that's why. It's funded by the M. O. M. to protect the people from . .Him. This stuff is to improve the common witch or wizard."  
"It's Voldermort, Shane."  
"Him. I call him Him."  
"Well, Dumbledore told me never to-ack!" She tensed as the needle punctured her arm. She knew the meds were to take the place of vitamins, exercise. . . the list was endless.   
"Then answer me this, then Shane," she grimaced,"why am I the specially chosen gal? I mean, shouldn't I spread the wealth?"  
"No, you're our test run of this stuff. The perfect witch agent, that's what we were aiming for."  
She slipped out of the seat, flexing her arm. "Shane-"  
"Ah, that question again." He laughed.  
"If *I'm* the first one, then why was this first started in-" Doctor B steered her towards the door.  
"Goodbye, R." The door slammed in her face.  
"In 1964?"   
Shrugging, she turned towards the main hallway, to merge with the bustling crowds that were completely clueless of the young girl, the one that watched over The One. 


	2. A flaw I wsh I had . . .

I'm not normal. In fact, I'm the farthest thing from normal. Harry knows me as another person, another, Plain Jane face in the crowd. But the Ministry of Magic knows me as a project.   
  
I don't know why it's my mission, but until the war breaks out, I'm watching Potter. I pretend to be a student, Griffindor, of course. Fudge and Shane say I could of gotten in that house without pulling strings (or using telepathy, another benifit of 'The Juice"). It doesn't really matter to me.   
I pass my time after classes in Hogwarts by trying to find out as much as I can about Project Raven. It was started in 1964. I know the alchemists, they don't take 23 years to finally come up with a working formula. Shane and the others aren't telling me something, I guess it for my own good.   
  
In 1987, I was born. The date was March 8. I have elbow-length chestnut hair, and blue eyes. I'm telepathic, extremly athletic, yada, yada, yada . . . the list is endless. I'm 6'1, and weigh 118 pounds. That is all I know about myself.   
  
There is no Mother who took care of me, no Father, either. I don't have a family. No, I'm not a test-tube baby, they just . . were never there. I don't think about them. there's no need to. I am supposed to be the perfect witch. That means no real love. Love is a flaw. .   
  
A flaw I wish I had. 


End file.
